


Iris

by MarsCosta



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angels, Drama, F/F, F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 15:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18524215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarsCosta/pseuds/MarsCosta
Summary: "And I'd give up forever to touch you 'cause I know that you feel me somehow..."A 'City of Angels' (1998 film) one-shot, Bughead version for the Spring Fever Event.





	Iris

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! Welcome to my contribution for the Spring Fever Event! As you may have read on the summary, it's based on the movie City of Angels. Hope you'll enjoy it! 
> 
> Last but not least, a huge thanks to my awesome beta, Cyd (@squids) for helping me with this!

 

* * *

Unseen by the humans around him, he watches from the corridor as the doctors operate on the young girl. Next to him, the mother cries, calling her daughter's name in despair. Then, the flatline begins. In an instant, the girl's spirit materializes by his side. She looks up at him with curious, inquisitive eyes.

 

“Are you God?” She asks, and he looks down at her with a smile.

 

“No. My name is Forsythe.”

 

The girl makes a face, narrowing her eyes. “That's a funny name.” He smiles again, unsure of what to reply. “Where are we going, Forsythe?”

 

“Home. We're going home.” She looks at her crying mother.

 

“Can Mommy come?”

 

“No.” He says quietly.

 

“She won't understand.” The girl argues, wisely understanding the situation. Forsythe nods.

 

“I know. But someday… someday she will.” He pauses, watching the older woman as well. “Can I ask you something?” She nods. “What did you like best?”

 

She seems to think for a while. “Pajamas.” She finally says with a smile, definitely knowing what she had liked in her lifetime.

 

“Pajamas?” She nods eagerly.

 

“Fluffy, with feet.” Forsythe smiles again.

 

“Oh. That's a very interesting choice.” He offers her his hand, and they start walking to eternity.

  


_Forsythe._

 

He feels, rather than hears, his name being called. Without a second thought, he transports himself to where his brother is calling him.

 

“How did it go?” Cassiel’s voice is strong, resonating around and almost over the waves.

 

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Uh, this time, the little girl asked if she could be an angel.”

 

There is silence as he seemed to consider his words.

  
“They all want wings.” Of course, the little girl who had died this morning wasn't the first human to ask that question. And she wouldn't be the last.

 

“I never know what to say.” Cassiel is his older brother, created before he existed, and therefore he has more experience.

  
“Tell them the truth. Angels are not human. We were never human. Which means humans can never be angels.” Forsythe doesn't have a chance to reply, as the sun begins to rise over the horizon, the celestial music soon invading his senses, his soul and everything he is.

  


His mission on Earth consists of escorting souls as they depart, moving on to Heaven. As a human is about to die, he feels… a pull of some sort. Something that tugs inside of him, and he immediately knows where he needs to be. This time, it brings him inside the operating room.

 

“Charge to 300.” The doctor, a blonde woman, orders as the beeping sound announces a stopped heart. With a nod from the nurse, she takes the defibrillator. “Clear!”  
  
“No pressure.” One of the people watching the monitors says.  


Forsythe watches with deep interest as they fight for the man's life.

  
“Inject lidocaine and buzz him again at 300. Clear!”  
  
“Still nothing.” The same nurse says.  
  
“Starting compressions.” The fierceness on the doctor's eyes as she starts massaging her patient's chest amazes him.  
  
“It's not working.”

 

“Come on!” As nothing happens, she only seems more determined.

 

“Nothing.” Another nurse declares. “Dr. Cooper, no response.”  
  
“Give me another minute.” She looks at her patient as she keeps working on him. “Come on. Don't do this.”

 

Forsythe knows it is pointless. He leans in, studying her face with amazement and curiosity.  
  
“He's going.” The nurse says, and that is when it happens. The doctor looks up, and it is like she's looking straight at him. She doesn’t blink, and he swears she can see him.  
  
“He's not going anywhere.” The strength in her voice is incredible. She's talking to the nurse, but she's still looking at him. It only lasts for one more second. She breaks the contact, looking at the machines. “Come on, don't do this! Damn it, come on!”

 

It's too late.

 

And as the human soul stands by his side, Forsythe forces himself to focus on his mission, leaving the doctor and the room behind as he and the human soul ascend.  

 

Later, it’s still the same day for the humans, he finds the doctor sitting on the emergency stairs. Her mind is loudly going on a mile a minute.

 

_What happened?_ She questions. _What happened? A graft occlusion? Jesus! It was textbook. It was textbook! I'm so sorry. The room got so big. I was so small. How did I get so small? I should've massaged longer. I just... lost it. I lost it. And I lost him._

 

She is crying. And… it is… something rather weird to watch. While he knows that humans cry because of the lacrimal glands they had above their eyes, where tears are produced before traveling down the ducts to finally reach its destination, it is an odd phenomenon, and he wonders what does it feel like. To cry. To feel tears running down his face.

 

He watches her more intently. Unable to resist, he reaches out, touching her face. Her body shudders from the contact, and he removes his hand. Humans are such… strange creatures. Mere hours ago, this same woman had stood strong inside an operation room, holding, if only for a millisecond, life and death in her hands. Now, she sits here on the empty stairwell, crying for the loss of another life.

  


“Cassiel? Have you ever been seen?” He questions as they stand in front of the vast sea, waiting for another sunrise. “Not by another angel or by the dying, or by the delirious. Have you ever been seen like you were a man?”

 

Cassiel studies his face for a long time.

 

“Where is this coming from, Forsythe?”

 

“One of the doctors in the operating room… she looked right at me.”

 

“She did not see you, Forsythe. She can't see you. No human can see you unless you want them to.” He pauses, thinking. “And I don't know why you would want one of them to see you.”

 

The words stay on his mind, and he asks himself why would he want to be seen. As much as he thinks he doesn't seem to be able to answer.

 

It is a new day, and he finds himself back at his post. As Forsythe wanders around the hospital, he finds himself yet again, fascinated by the female doctor from the day before. This time, instead of crying, she was holding a newborn on her arms, smiling.

 

Moments later, another female doctor enters the room.

 

“How are you holding up, B?” She asks putting on some gloves.

 

“I… I don't know.” Her voice is small and not strong like before. “I feel like it's my fault, you know? I keep going over what happened, wondering if I could’ve done something different.”

 

For an unknown reason, he wishes he could tell her this isn't her fault.

 

“B, you did everything you could. You can't beat yourself up like this.” She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes like it had when she had smiled at the baby.

 

And that's when Forsythe finds an answer. He knows why he would want to be seen.

  


Betty is exhausted. The week had been… a lot. Losing a patient always hit her hard and while she did need some time to bounce back, it was incredibly annoying to be removed from a procedure. Dr. Weatherbee shouldn't have done that. Especially not without talking to her first. She's distracted by her thoughts when a shadow catches her eye. The man standing in the middle of the corridor surprises her. She had been so distracted she hadn't noticed him there.

 

“Excuse me.” She calls out, and he turns around, deep blue eyes staring back at her. “Are you a visitor?”

 

He looks at her for a moment before replying.  
  
“Yes.”

 

Betty looks down at her watch. He shouldn't be here.  
  
“Visiting hours have been over since eight o'clock.” At that, the man tilts his head, watching her with eagle eyes.  
  
“Why do they have that?” He asks after a moment.  
  
“What?” She has no idea what he's talking about.  
  
“Hours. Doesn't it help the patient to be visited?” It does, Betty wants to say, it does, but there are times for it. However, something more important crosses her mind.  
  
“Who are you visiting? Mrs.Topaz?” She was the only new patient on this corridor, and she had never seen this man around before.  
  
“Right now?” She nods even if his question is weird. “You.” His eyes seem to read her soul, which is quite troubling.  
  
“You're visiting _me_ ?” She shakes her head at the weirdness of the thought. “I don't need a visitor.”  
  
“Don't you?” Betty looks around for a second. There's no one else on the corridor other than them.  
  
“No. I'm one of the doctors here.” He pauses, again staring at her in that unsettling way.  
  
“Why are you in such despair?” His voice seems somehow deeper, and she can't _not_ think of his words. Was she in despair? _Yes._ The feeling of losing someone was despairing.  
  
“I lost a patient.” She says quietly, unsure of why she's telling him, a stranger, that.  
  
“Did you do everything you could?” Initially, the question annoys her.

 

“Of course I did! That's my job.” Then, an old voice returns in her head, saying what she'd done hadn't been enough. “I mean, I think I did, but I certainly could have done more. Maybe if I had, he wouldn't have died.”

 

Something similar to sympathy crosses his face and he tilts his head in that funny way again.  
  
“People die.” Of course people died. But not in her hands.  
  
“Not on my table.” She replies.  
  
“People die when their bodies give out.” Betty shakes her head, focusing on keeping the tears away from her eyes because she is not crying in front of a total stranger. Especially one that was so terribly good looking.  
  
“It's my job to keep their bodies from giving out. Otherwise, what am I doing here? What good am I for, what kind of doctor I am if I can't save people’s lives?”  
  
“It wasn't your fault, Betty.” His calm voice does nothing to ease her mind.

  
“I wanted him to live.” She declares with a small voice.  
  
“He is living. Just not the way you think.” Her sadness is replaced by denial and disbelief.  
  
“Oh. I… I don't believe in that.” Again he studies her face, shaking his head.  
  
“Some things are true whether you believe in them or not.”

 

Betty considers his words, the whole conversation, and something jumps out in her mind.  
  
“How did you know my name?” He doesn't answer, just points at her badge. _Right_ . “What's yours?”  
  
“Forsythe.” _Forsythe?_ What kind of name is that?  
  
“Uh, you better get out of here, Forsythe… Security will be here soon, and they won't like someone wandering past hours.” Before he can reply, she drops her pen. When Betty gets up from the floor, he's gone. She looks around, trying to find him, but he's nowhere to be seen.

 

The next time she finds him, it's at the hospital's library when she's returning a book a patient forgot on her office.

 

“Hello, Betty.” It doesn't go unnoticed that he's using the same clothes from the last time she saw him, black jeans, black t-shirt, and a long black trench coat. “It's nice to see you again.”

 

“It's weird to see you again.” She says, starting to look at the shelves, looking for the letter H, where she must put the book back. Betty feels his eyes on her again, and when she looks at him, he’s staring at her hands.

 

“You like Hemingway?” Betty thinks about it for an instant.

 

“He’s not my favorite author, but I like him.” He just nods and points at the book.

 

“May I?” He takes the book, opening on a specific page and starts reading. “ _As I ate the oysters with their strong taste of the sea and their faint metallic taste…”_ A small voice in her head makes a note about how good his voice sounds while he reads, soft and calm but powerful in its quietness. “... _as I drank their cold liquid from each shell and washed it down with the crisp taste of the wine, I lost the empty feeling and began to be happy.”_  Forsythe pauses, looking up. “He never forgets to describe how things taste. I like that.”

 

“I like that, too.” She replies, remembering when she used to read Hemingway back in high school.

 

“You seem happier today, Betty.” His observation brings a smile to her face.

 

“It was a good day.” She pauses, rethinking the day. “I didn’t kill anyone today, so there’s that.” Her tone is playful, but he doesn’t smile.

 

“You shouldn’t worry, Betty. You’re an excellent doctor.” Crossing her arms, she leans against the closest column.

 

“How do you know?”

 

“I have a feeling.” He tells her, mirroring her stance.

 

“That's not a strong argument.” Forsythe takes a step closer. “Close your eyes.” Before she can argue, he continues. “It's just for a moment.” His hand reaches out, and his fingertips touch the back of her hand with the lightness of a feather. His touch sends a chill through her spine, in a way she never felt before. “What am I doing?” He asks a moment later, in an almost whisper.

 

“You're touching me.” She replies quietly.

 

“How do you know?” Betty swallows, the feel of his hand on her skin still sending electricity through her.

 

“Because I feel it.” Just as she says the words she understands what he did. Opening her eyes, she's met with a smile on his face.

 

“You should trust that. Your feelings. You don't trust them enough.” She just smiles instead of arguing with him.

 

“You got me there, Forsythe. Nice trick.”

 

“It wasn't a trick. It was logic.” Betty reaches inside her pocket, taking the pear she'd brought as a snack.

 

“You know, it's the second time we've met and the second time you give me a pep talk. What's up with that?” She bits down on the fruit and his eyes suddenly widen.

 

“What’s that like?” Swallowing, Betty uses the napkin the wipe her mouth before answering another weird question.

 

“What, the pear?” Forsythe nods enthusiastically.

 

“Describe it. Like Hemingway.” She can help but laugh a little at his oddity.

 

“It tastes like… a pear. You don't know what a pear tastes like?”

 

He seems to think for a moment. “I don't know what a pear tastes like to you.” At that, Betty notes to herself that she has never met a man like Forsythe before. A man who’s bright smart, while also being so weird and humble… and interesting. So, she indulges him.

 

“It's… uh, sweet. Juicy. Soft on your tongue. And grainy. Like sugary sand that dissolves in your mouth.” He keeps staring at her with the same curious and wide eyes.

 

“And how's that?”

 

“It's perfect. It's my favorite fruit.” A comfortable silence falls between them as she finishes eating.

 

“Do you work here, Forsythe?” He nods. “What do you do?”

 

“I'm a messenger. I'm a messenger of God.” She bits back a laugh, knowing it's rude and wrong, but after years of studying and living science, after everything she has seen and been through, Betty can't bring herself to be a believer.

 

“Sorry. I'm not a believer.” It's her go-to response whenever someone, either a patient or a fellow doctor or even a stranger, tries to talk religion with her. She avoids the topic because she doesn't see the point in arguing about things that simply aren't real for her.

 

“Some things are true whether you believe in them or not,” Forsythe says, almost as if he knew what she was thinking. It's the same words he had told her the other day. She's about to reply when her pager vibrates on her pocket.

 

“I have to go.”

 

“I know.” He says with a smile. “See you later, Betty.” With that, he turns to walk away.

 

“Will you be here?” She calls after him. For some unknown reason, Betty wants to talk with him again. He just shrugs, smiling again, before taking a turn, disappearing from her line of sight.

  


Unbeknownst to Betty, Forsythe is following her as she leaves the library. He's curious as to why someone wouldn't believe, especially someone with her job. Humans are indeed the most fascinating creatures his Father made. So small, so fragile, but so strong and so full of themselves at the same time.

 

Betty's patient is a red-headed woman, who has a cast on her leg and scrapes on her face and arms. He watches their exchange with absorption.

 

“How long until I can ride again?” The redhead asks.

 

“A while, Mrs. Topaz. Between the healing from the surgery, having the cast come off and physical therapy, I'd say you won't be getting anywhere near a bike at least for another six months or more.” Betty says checking the chart.

 

“I need to be on my feet by summertime, Doc. It's our ten year anniversary and TT and I are planning a celebratory road trip.” The woman's tone is bossy and demanding.

 

“Summer is still five months away, Mrs. Topaz. It will depend on how well you heal and how much work you put into therapy.” By the way, she sighs, rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, he assumes what Betty just said wasn't what she wanted to hear. “But rest assured, you'll be back on a bike and ready for another one in no time.” Strangely enough, those words make Mrs. Topaz laugh. “Have one of the nurses call me, if you need anything, alright?”

 

As Betty leaves, Forsythe stays in the room, trying to wrap his mind around the way humans behave, but a moment later, his thinking is startled by Mrs. Topaz's words.

 

“I can't see you, but I know you there.” He freezes on the spot. He had heard about humans who could sense their presence, but usually, all angels knew about them, and warned other angels, so they could be relatively careful around them. No one had said anything. In fact, all the humans who could see them lived far away from this place. “I came close this time,” She continued. “but I am not going anywhere anytime soon.”

 

He makes himself visible, taken aback by this woman. She opens her eyes just in time, and instead of surprise, a scowl appears on her face as she crosses her arms and shakes her head. “Let me guess, you're wondering how I knew you were there?”

 

He nods. “It shouldn't be possible.” She laughs.

 

“Oh, dummy. You have no idea of what possible even means. What's your name?”

 

“Forsythe.”

 

“Jeez, they certainly don't get tired of the weird names.” Her eyes check him. “You look too… celestial for a guardian angel. I'm guessing high rankings?”

 

“I guide the souls from this life to the next.”

 

“Wow. A psychopomp. High rankings indeed. Nice.” Her smile and expression are the opposite of how impressed she just sounded. “Grab me those clothes, will you? Over the dresser.” Without a word, he does as she says. As he hands her the clothes, she's already pulling the blankets off of her. “Look away.” He turns around immediately. “And grab me the crutches behind the door while you're at it.” A couple of minutes later, the ruffling of clothes stop. “I'm done.” When he looks at her, she's wearing red shorts and sweatshirt. “Crutches, please.” She moves to get up from the bed, and it's only then that he understands.

 

“I-I don't think you should get up from the bed. Do you want me to call a doctor? Maybe one of the nurses?”

 

“Hush now, Wings.” She brushes him off with a gesture. “You're taking me out for dinner. Come on. Move that fluffy ass.”  


Half an hour later, Forsythe finds himself sitting at a diner in front of the hospital. The waitress smiles at him as she opens up her notepad.

 

“How can I help you?” Mrs. Topaz clears up her throat, making the woman look at her.

 

“Oh, hi. I want a large piece of this cherry pie of yours. And a cherry cola. My friend here's on a diet, so he won't be having anything, thank you.” As the woman goes to make their order, Forsythe leans on the table.

 

“Who are you?” She smiles again, widely this time.

 

“My name's Cheryl. Cheryl Topaz, liar, selfish, hedonist, egocentric. But I was formerly known as Ambriel, the pure, one of the guardians.”

 

“What? I don't believe you. You used to be an angel? That's not possible.” He argues.

 

“You want proof? You guys spent time at the library. You can speak every language. You can travel with the speed of thought…” _And you are reading my mind right now._ “Should I keep going?”

 

“It's impossible.” Cheryl laughs.

 

“Oh really? What happened to the _some things are true whether you believe them or not?_ Do you honestly think humans were the only ones to be gifted with free will? We can choose.” Never had he been this puzzled in his entire existence.

 

“What is there to choose?” He doesn't understand what she's saying.

 

“Oh. You have no idea. Life. Freedom. Feelings. Pleasure. And so much more.”

 

The waitress brought her order, flashing another smile to him before leaving them alone again.

 

“What made you choose?” His question makes something change in her eyes and expression. She laughs again, shaking her head as she tastes the pie.

 

“Love.” She finally says. “What else would it be? I fell in love with my charge. Of course, I had no idea what love was back then, but I got curious, I guess. I started to appear to her, and we would talk for hours. We became real friends. And when I told her the truth she didn't freak out or anything. She accepted me. Said she was happy to know I was looking after her. After that, I kept watching her, and we kept talking. In one of those talks, she asked me if it was true that God sent girls who liked girls and boys who liked boys to Hell.” She pauses to take a sip of her coke.

 

“Love is love.” Forsythe says while she eats another piece. “God doesn't care who humans love.”

 

“Exactly. I told her that was all human bullshit. And for a couple of years, I watched as she met girls and boys and fell in and out of love, but she wasn't happy. When I asked her what was missing, what could make her happy, she told me it was me. She said she was in love with me. _Me._ I explained to her it wasn't possible. That I was just her guardian. What she said then changed my life forever. I remember like it was yesterday. She looked at me and she said, _I was taught that God gave us freedom. Why can't you be free, too?_ After that, it wasn't that hard to figure how to do it.”

 

“Do what?” Cheryl looks up from her pie, rolling her eyes.

 

“Fall. To Earth.” She studies his face, not missing the silent question there. “Want to know how? You jump off a bridge. Leap out a window. Your choice. The fall must be just as literal as it is symbolic. You just make up your mind to do it and you do it. At first, is awful. You wake up all smelly, aching from head to toe and hungrier than you've ever been. Of course, you don't know what's hunger. The not knowing anything, makes it all really confusing, and it's also painful, but very, _very_ good.”

 

Neither one of them says anything for a moment.

 

“Are there others like you?” He finally says after going over the entire conversation in his head.

 

“Oh, yeah, they're out there. More than you can imagine. I see them sometimes, but most of the time you just walk on by. Nobody likes to think of the old life. You know, what we gave up.”

 

“Was it worth it?”  


Her response is immediate. “Yes. I'd do it all over again if I had to.” Cheryl finishes her pie, and after cleaning up her mouth, she stares at him. “I have been doing all the talking and you haven't told me anything about yourself yet. Why don't you start by telling me what you were doing in my room? Since I'm not dying and you didn't know about my past life.”

 

“It wasn't intentional.” He doesn't know how she does it, but her next words remind him of why most high rankings say the guardians are annoying and too intuitive.

 

“Oh! The doctor! She's pretty, gotta give you that, although a little too spiceless for my taste. Why her, though?”

 

_Why her?_ The question echoes inside his head.

 

“Because she saw me, even without seeing me. Does that make sense?” For the first time, the redhead's smile seems genuine and heartfelt.

 

“Yes. It does.” She drinks in silence, her mind miles away, flashing the same face of a woman, the woman Forsythe guesses to be the one Cheryl talked about so fondly, her former charge. Then, her thoughts turn to him, sitting here, and in her head facing the same strangeness, only knowledge could provide. She doesn’t voice her next question. _What are you going to do?_

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“I’m sure, at some point, it already crossed your mind the idea of telling doctor blondie the truth.” He makes a face, and she rolls her eyes. “Former Guardian Angel, remember? Our intuition is the sharpest of the three orders.”

 

“A Cherub could argue on that.” Cheryl crosses her arms.

 

“I’m not going to argue theology with you. Besides, you know the song, stupid cupid. Semantics apart, you can’t lie to a former angel. You can’t lie, period. Just… be careful. The truth can be too much for them… Humans don’t believe in us anymore.” With that, she suddenly reaches to grab the crutches. “It’s been real, Wings. Now, take me back, will you? TT will be pissed if she finds I escape from the hospital to eat decent food.”

 

“TT?” Her eyes get brighter.

 

“Yes, Toni Topaz. My former charge turned best friend, turned love of my life. Now chop-chop. I need my beauty sleep.”

  


Forsythe keeps what he learned from Cheryl to himself, unsure of how his companions would react. He does try to carry on but the weight of the truth, along with the idea of freedom, haunts each and every one of his seconds, teasing his mind with _whats_ and _ifs._

 

“Here you are again.” Betty’s voice startles him, as he wasn’t aware he was visible. “After we talked the other day, I started re-reading Hemingway.” He can’t help but smile, even in spite of how distracted his mind is.

 

“Really? You don’t seem happy, though.”

 

“I’ve just finished _A Farewell To Arms._ No one can be happy after _that._ You know… she _dies_. What’s the point of love if it leaves one vulnerable to loss? What even is love?”

 

He takes her in for a second, blonde ponytail, big bright green eyes that remind him of emeralds, wrapped in white jeans and a white blouse. “I was hoping you could tell me. What is love?”

 

Her forehead wrinkles a little as she tilts her head at his question. “Love… is a word that describes a chemical reaction related to repro--” She stops, shaking her head. “It’s just crap. I’m full of crap. I have no idea what love is. And no matter the many definitions you’ll find in here,” she says, gesturing around the library. “No one has a clue.”

 

Betty looks at him, thinking for a moment, and not knowing when she’ll see him again, she jumps for it, saying out loud the words that have been bothering her  since the last time they talked, in this same place. “And talking about clues, I have no clue of who you are. I don’t know why, but I wait all day, just hoping for one more minute with you, and I don’t even know you.”

 

“What do you want to know?” His openness is a surprise to her.

 

“The uh, the basics. Your last name? Or, uh, why you always wear black and that same trench coat? Why won’t you give me your phone number? Why haven’t you asked me on a date yet? I don’t know.” There’s so much she wants to know. “Are you… married?” It crossed her mind that a wife could be a good reason why he hadn’t asked her out.

“No.” He doesn’t elaborate.

 

“Are you homeless?” The possibility of it had crossed her mind once or twice, a plausible explanation to why he was always here, looking the same.

 

“No.”  

 

She takes a step closer to him, but in sync, he takes a step back, and it confuses her more than his crazy past statements or his one-word replies have so far.

 

“Why don't you ever touch me?” The question leaves her lips before she can think about it.

 

“I don't want to hurt you.” Something in her face must make him realize the lack of logic in his words, because he continues, taking a step forward, but this time, she's the one taking a step back. “If I could make you understand…”

 

_Right._ She had heard those words before. More times than she would like. “There's nothing to understand. I'll see you around, Forsythe.”

 

She tries not to think about him after that. And it goes as far as her accepting to go on a date with Chuck Clayton, the new plastic surgeon. He’s quite good to look at, a fine kisser and all, but something is missing in him. A voice in her head tells her it’s the lack of depth in his conversation, and yet again, she’s reminded of the weird and mysterious Forsythe.

 

Days later, Betty goes to Cheryl Topaz’s Welcome Home party. She had never been one to get attached to patients, knowing better, but the woman had been so nice to her, she couldn’t say no. Just as Toni, Cheryl’s wife, is taking Betty to the backyard to meet ‘everyone’, she sees no one other than Forsythe, already on the large table, taking with Cheryl. She manages to busy herself with introductions and small talk until Toni calls everyone to sit down and eat. Trying to avoid sitting next to him, somehow she ends up facing him, which is even weirder.

 

“So, where are you from, Forsythe?” One of the guesses asks as they pass around the trays with food.

 

“Up.” The weird reply doesn’t go unnoticed, and Cheryl hits his arm.

 

“Silly. He means North. Canada. Uh, shouldn’t Fangs be here already, Sweets?” The conversation never goes back to him, and although she’s trying hard, her attention keeps coming back to him.

 

After dessert, he seems to be having fun entertaining Toni’s niece, Hannah, who's been insisting on calling him Jug-head, in spite of her mother's reprimand, because she says his head is too big.

 

“Can you hear it?” The seven-year-old asks. “I’m growing.” He leans his head, pretending to be listening.

 

“Yes. You’ll be a very tall girl one day.”

 

She gives him a toothless smile. “You’re just like aunty Cher, Jug-head.”

 

“Hannah, sweetie. Smile.” The girl’s mother says, holding a Polaroid camera, as Hannah throws an arm around him. She shakes the piece of paper for a moment, and the girl jumps to try and see it. “You need to wait, hun. See? It’s starting to appear.” A minute later, a disappointed exclamation makes Betty look at them again.

 

“Mommy! Where’s Jug-head? He didn’t appear!” The mother seems puzzled.

 

“I don’t know sweetie. Let’s go ask your father. He’s the one who knows how to work this old thing anyway.” She throws the photo on the table, and as they walk away, Betty reaches for it, at the same time as he did. Their hands brush, but before she can say anything, he’s up and walking inside. Annoyed at his high school attitude, she takes the photo, and the unnatural light that seems to have exploded over his entire figure makes her stop for a moment.

 

“Doc. Would you like another glass of wine?”

 

“Yes, Cheryl. Thanks.” They sit together, drinking. “How long have you known Forsythe?” The redhead follows her look to where he is helping Toni with the dishes.

 

“Not very long, but I feel like I’ve known him forever.” She says with a thoughtful smile.

 

“How did you two meet?” Cheryl blinks, hesitating for just a second.

 

“Uh, he’s a mechanic at the garage where I take my bike.” Betty frowns.

 

“I thought he was a messenger.” She laughs, taking a sip of her glass.

 

“Yeah, he’s got two jobs or something. It’s a bit complex. TT!” She yells just as Betty was about to ask her something else, her attention turned to something else.   

  


Somehow, a couple of days after the Topaz’s gathering, Betty invites Forsythe to have dinner at her house. She blames her curiosity for her recklessness. Because who in their right mind would just invite a stranger into their house?

 

“Thank you for inviting me. I… I’m sorry. If I was… rude the other day.” She smiles sweetly at him, handing him a knife and some carrots.

 

“Don’t worry. Can you cut this up?” He nods, and while he starts cutting, she fires the first question on the night, determined to find more about him.

 

“So in what province of Canada were you born?”

 

“I wasn’t born in Canada.” His lack of further explanation doesn’t stop her.

 

“What are your parents’ names?”

 

He doesn’t even look up. “No parents.” An orphan? She grabs a glass of water, watching him work.

 

“You have very delicate hands for a mechanic.” She says after a silent minute.

 

“I'm not a mechanic.” What? Cheryl lied? Why? Who was this man in front of her? Could it be that the delusions in her mind were… real?

 

People used to say, back in the small town where she’d grown up in, that the crazy gene ran in her family, from both her mother and her father’s sides. Betty never believed it, not when she was a kid, and much less after studying to become a doctor. However, something had changed after that photograph. Weird thoughts and interrogations had popped in her mind more than once, especially as she considered all the times Forsythe and her had spoken. Maybe this was it. The moment where she proved everyone right, where she assumed her craziness once and for all. Slowly, without him noticing, she took the knife she had been using to chop onions just a moment ago.

 

“Can I see your hands?” The instant he puts his right hand above her left one, Betty uses the knife in her hand to cut him.

 

Forsythe jumps back, holding his hand, a bewildered look on his face.

 

“Why did you do that?” He reaches for the one of the cloths that’s hanging on the chair, wrapping it around his hand.

 

“Let me see your hand.”

 

“No.” Betty cannot believe her eyes as no blood appears on the cloth, so she looks into his eyes.

 

“What's your last name?” She asks again, needing him to say something, anything, that will prove that this isn’t real.

 

“You know my last name.”

 

“No, I don't. You never told me.” He looks away from her for a moment.

 

“It’s Jones.” Betty turns around, seeing the pot of salted caramel frosting named _Miss Jones_ she had left on the countertop the previous day.

 

“Forsythe Jones? Really?” She may have lost her mind, but she sure as hell isn’t stupid. “I cut you. I cut you. I cut you with that knife. I felt it go in. You felt it. You should be bleeding.”

 

Something like sympathy appears in his face, as he shakes his head. “Not the way you do.”

 

“The way I do? What does that mean? Pain and blood are universal!” She half yells, nearly reaching her breaking point.

 

“For you. What I mean is the way... a human does.” And just then her world stops. “I have no sense of touch. I never touched you because I can’t touch you in the way you know.” He reaches for her face, and as his hand touches her for the first time, she doesn’t feel his skin against hers. Instead, what she feels is goosebumps, and a chill in her spine, and something like electricity slowly spreading through her face. “You feel that? Don't be frightened.”

 

Even though his voice is low and calm, it makes her jump, shaking him off. _No. It’s not possible. It can’t be possible._ She repeats in her head.

 

“You’re a liar! Who…” Betty pauses, not believing what she’s about to say. “What are you?” Her voice is just a whisper, and she feel for the first time the way her hands and her body are shaking.

 

“I already told you. I’m a messenger of God. I came to take Mr. Balford… and I saw you. I couldn't take my eyes off you. How you fought for him. And how… you looked right at me… like you could see me. Like I was a man.” He’s taken a step closer to her, and she tried to step back, but her back hit the table, leaving her with nowhere to go.

 

" _To take Mr. Balford?_ What does that mean?” She isn’t a believer. She never cared for church attendance and bible reading. She doesn’t understand what he’s saying. She doesn’t want to.

 

“I was there. We're always there in every room. I was there in the stairwell, too… when you cried for your patient. And I tried to touch you. Remember?” Betty remembers feeling a chill, but it was because of the air-conditioning. It wasn’t… It couldn’t be him.

 

Unable to keep holding back the stressed tears, Betty cries silently. “Why are you doing this?”

 

He’s too close, closer than before. His feet are touching hers. And she looks up, their faces just inches apart. “Because I'm in love with you.”

 

Shaking her head, she hides her face between her hands.

 

“I don't believe you. You’re crazy.” Again, he touches her. She feels the same electricity as he takes her hands in his own, taking them away from her face gently. Then, with a finger, he touches her chin, tilting her head up, so she can look at him, and then his hand is on her face like before, the nearly magical feeling returning.

 

“Do you feel that?” _Yes,_ her inner voice says as her lips remain closed. “You don't want to believe me.”

 

“I cannot conceive of it! This isn’t possible. This isn’t real! Just get out! Get out!”

 

With a light breeze, he simply disappears from her kitchen, leaving her alone with nothing but shaky hands and a pounding heart.

 

Days pass turning into weeks. Forsythe never appeared again. Not in the hospital, not in her home. It’s incredible how lonely she feels all of a sudden. Lonely in a way she never felt before, lonely in a way that nothing seems to ease.

 

She’s having another night filled with insomnia. A storm is raging outside and Betty thinks of him.

 

“Forsythe?” She calls out in the dark of her room. “Are you here? I want to see you.” At first, nothing happens. “Please. Let me see you.” Suddenly, the electric feeling returns in her arms, at the back of her neck, her face. It’s all over, and nowhere at the same time, and she knows what it means. He’s here. With her.

 

She feels something pulling her to her bedroom, and as she lies down in bed, the feeling of him continues, and a sense of peace invades her. Her eyes start to get heavy, and her body relaxes into the feeling of him. “Stay. Just stay until I fall asleep.” She whispers before closing her eyes and letting it all take her over and away.

 

He still doesn't appear to her, but she sleeps soundly every night.

 

A couple of days later, during her day off, Betty remembers what Toni’s niece had said back at the party. It's a long shot and more people are going to find out she's gone bonkers, but she has to try.

 

Cheryl doesn't seem the least surprised to see Betty standing there as she opens the door. “I was wondering when you'd show up. Come on in, Doc. TT! We're going to need some wine.”

 

As she tells her story, both Toni and Cheryl listen carefully to her. They never laugh, and they never called the loony bin to come pick her up. “You don't think I'm crazy. Why?” She asks as she finishes.

 

“Because you're not. Crazy, that is. Forsythe is an angel. And everything he told you is the truth.” The red-head replies as she refills Betty's glass.

 

“Okay. So God is real, angels are real and they walk among us, and who knows, maybe vampires are real, too. What I just--”

 

“Now you’re sounding crazy.” Cheryl says cutting her off. “There's no such a thing as vampires or werewolves.”

 

Betty sighs, agreeing. “Fine. What I was saying is that I just don't understand it. I don't understand a God or a Universe or whatever, who would let us meet, if we could never be together.” It reminds her of _A Farewell To Arms._ What's the point of love?

 

Toni and Cheryl exchange a look, a whole conversation happening between them without words. “What? Why are you both looking at me like that?”

 

“He didn't tell you.” Cheryl declares, eyes shining with curiosity and something else.

 

“Tell me what?”

 

“Maybe you should let her ask him, babe.” Toni says quietly.

 

“No, I'm asking you. What was he supposed to have told me?

 

They look at each other again before Cheryl speaks. “Being an angel… it's not what humans think it is. It's different. Forsythe knows no fear, no pain, no hunger, he can't feel touch or taste or pleasure. But he hears music in the sunrise. He can heal people. He can fly. He can do so many things. Things words can't express. Yet, he'd give it all up. He loves you that much.”

 

“I don't understand.” Much to her surprise, Cheryl takes her hands between hers.

 

“Forsythe loves you. That's the first thing you must know. The other thing is that he is free. Like humans, he has free will. Therefore, he can fall. He can give up his existence as he knows it, he can give up eternity and become… one of us.”

 

“What? How do you know this?” Again, she looks at her wife, and they smile at each other.

 

“I know because I did it, Betty. I fell. For love.”

 

Betty asks them for a moment after that. She goes outside, sitting alone in their backyard, considering what she heard.

 

Some ten minutes later, Toni sits beside her, offering her a blanket. “I know what you're going through. Most people say that without meaning it, but I've been exactly where you are.”

 

“I don't know what to do, Toni. I mean… my heart beats faster every time I see him. No man has ever caught my attention like he did. His words are so simple and so powerful and he seems to understand me in a way no one ever has.” She pauses, a smile coming to her face as she thinks about him. “We've only meet a few times, but I'm in love with him. And if things were… normal, I could see myself having a life with him, but there's nothing normal about this. What kind of person I am if I ask him to give up his existence for me? For the idea of love?”

 

“First of all, love is more than an idea. Secondly, people give things up for love every day. Why is this any different?”

 

Betty stares at her for a moment, trying to figure out if she really means it. Yes, she does. “Toni. We're not talking about giving up a job or an apartment. This is immortality. Eternal life.”

 

“Eternity means nothing if you're alone.” Cheryl says from where she's standing by the door. “And when you're with someone you love, everyday is forever.”

  
  


Back at her house, Betty keeps thinking about Toni and Cheryl and the things they told her. It's the middle of the night when she finally finds courage to call his name.

 

“Forsythe?” She takes a deep breath. “I need to talk to you. Forsythe, please. Please be here.”

She feels the breeze just as she feels his presence fill the room. Turning around, he's standing by her window, looking even more handsome than the last time she saw him. They stare at each other in silence for a long time, while she struggles to find the right words to say.

 

“I spoke with Cheryl.” He nods.

 

“What did she tell you?” Betty pulls her robe around her, feeling very small all of a sudden.

 

“You know what. She told me the truth.” Carefully, he takes a step closer to her bed.

 

“And how do you feel about it?”

 

“Bad? Happy? Egotistical? I don't know. Are you really willing to give up everything for me? Some cosmic dust that gradually transformed itself into something with a conscience? I'm just human!”

 

He kneels by her feet, hands on her face before she can hide between her own again. “Oh, Betty! Don't you see? You're everything you should be and more. To me, you're more than evolved cosmic dust. You're… _everything_. I know you can feel me somehow. And I know you feel the same way I feel about you. I don't feel like I'm giving everything up, if that's what you're worried about. After you… forever means nothing.” Tears are coming down her face as he concludes, and she hugs him, allowing his energy to vibrate through her entire body.

 

“I love you, too.” They stay like that for another moment, until he breaks their embrace.

 

“Come with me. I want you to be there when I do it.” She listens quietly as he explains to her what needs to be done, then, she searches the internet, looking for the right place. With their destination chosen, Betty packs a bag, making sure to pack a full medical kit, just in case he needs it.

 

Next thing she knows, they're in her car, driving towards the jump that will make him mortal, but at the same time, hers.

 

The chosen place it's a three story abandoned building, a former industry turned warehouse, on the outskirts of the town. It's the middle of the night, and without a soul around, they won't be disturbed. She stands in front of the iron staircase by his side.

 

“Are you sure about this?”

 

“I've never been this sure of anything in thousands of years. I love you.” That's all she needs to hear.

 

“I love you, too. I'm waiting for you down here.”

 

He climbs at a fast pace, in silence. When he finally stands at the edge of the rooftop, legs swinging over the meek security bars, her heart tightens on her chest. Still she doesn't take her eyes off of him.

  


Sitting on the roof, Forsythe can see the city lights closely, even if they're far away. It seems like the perfect metaphor to his existence, always seeing thing so close when they were in fact so far. Not anymore. This time he's really close. Closer than ever before. Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes, feeling the wind on his face for just a moment. Another breath, and he jumps. And everything goes dark.

 

_Forsythe? Can you hear me?_ Her voice is the first thing he hears, still in the dark and he swears nothing has ever sounded so sweet and melodic. The next thing he knows is a burning, weird feeling over his entire body. “Forsythe?” He hears her again, and this time, he forces his body to respond, opening his eyes. And there she is. Emerald green eyes, blonde wavy hair surrounding her creamy face like a golden halo, and lips so pink and perfect that remind him of unbloomed roses. Betty. _Betty Cooper._

 

“God.” His voice is rough, and his mouth feels completely dry. “Y-You are… so... beautiful.”    


The worry in her face dissipates as she smiles and wrapping her arms around him, she pulls him in a hug. Betty pulls away after an instant, laying his head on her lap, and slowly, she brings her hand to his face. “Do you feel that?”

 

“Yeah.” The feel of her overwhelms everything and suddenly it's like he can't remember what it feels like to _not_ feel her. “I-I feel you.” He rasps out.

 

They hug again and nothing else matters.

  


Later, they're back in her house, watching the sunset. Betty's sitting behind him, her legs tangled above his as her hands touch his bare chest. She's naked behind him, and every inch of her is touching him, making him feel things he cannot name.

 

She doesn't seem to get tired of touching him, as her hands massage his broad shoulders, alternating with drawing circles and figures on his skin.

 

“How does this feel?” She whispers in his ear. “Tell me what it feels like.”

 

“I can't.” For someone who use to speak every known language his lack of words are astonishing to himself. There doesn't seem to exist words to describe what she makes him feel.

 

“Try.” She whispers again.

 

“It's… Warm. And soft. And... Aching.” His last word makes her laugh, and Betty moves to kiss his mouth, smiling to herself as she thinks of introducing him to the pleasures of the flesh.

 

“You know,” he says after a while. “I always asked the dying what they liked best about living. Wrote it down in my book. If one day anyone asks me, this will be it. To touch you… and to feel you. To be able to hold your hand right now. You know what that means? Do you know how much I love you? This is what I like best.”

 

“You haven't even started yet, my love. We have our whole lives together. You and me. Mr. and Mrs. Jones. Like the caramel frosting. And who knows. Maybe I'll start calling you Jughead, like Hannah did.”  


  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> For those of you who have watched the movie, I hope you liked the alternative ending. 
> 
> Don't forget to leave a kudo, or to drop a comment below to let me know what you think.


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